


Moira's Demons

by LoudSpeakers



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Headcanon, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Post-Canon, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, The Author Regrets Nothing, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Weird Plot Shit, smol moira
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-02 19:24:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16793236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoudSpeakers/pseuds/LoudSpeakers
Summary: Moira reflects on her childhood.help this small noodle please





	1. Run, Little monster (Before you know who I am)

**Author's Note:**

> AAAA  
> i feel no regret

Moira was working at her desk when she heard a knock on the door.

_Damned philistines._

"Moira? Are you in there?" Called a muffled voice. It was Angela, her accent lacing her words.

_A pleasant surprise._

"Yes. Come in."

The Swiss doctor gingerly stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. She wore a dark blue turtleneck, black jeans and round glasses. It fitted the doctor well. Angela offered Moira a smile (of which she didn't return) and dragged an unused wooden stool towards the desk.

"Hey Moira. How's life?"

"Shit." The geneticist replied bluntly, causing Angela to grimace. Moira knew she hated when people cursed.

The good doctor lowered herself on the stool, then held her hands by her lap. "Don't be like that, Moira. Your teammates are already concerned about your wellbeing."

Slightly taken aback, Moira raised a perfect brow. _Nobody seemed to care about her._ "Really?"

"I am sure."

Both the doctors sat in silence after that, neither knowing how to start another conversation. Moira was actually quite surprised that her teammates would give a damn about her. She never attended meetings, didn't have the most desirable personality or looks, and was accused of being a total psychopath.

She was a mess, yet people tried to clean her up.

Angela suddenly piped up again. "Is there any reason you may be acting this way? Perhaps a condition, of sorts?" The doctor was concerned, wanting to help the Irishwoman.

Moira laughed out loud at Angela's speculation. "No, my dear, I am perfectly fine."

 _A lie_.

It was, infact, a condition. A sickness that started when she was young and never went away. It warped her mind and body, making her believe in things that she knew weren't true, yet she still followed those lies today. Even when she was young, Moira knew her family was not normal. Didn't love one another like other children at her school boasted, she just smiled and nodded her head in fake agreement.

* * *

_"C'mon, Moira, it'll be fun!"_ _A boy around her age looked at her with soft green orbs, hoping that the quiet and lonely girl would come out of her shell for someone._

 _Moira contemplated the request, wondering if she should rebel against her parents strict rules. She quickly decided against it._ _"I am sorry, I must decline. My parents would not like that."_ _They hated her going out after-school._

_The boy gave her an odd look. "The park isn't far away..."_

_Moira sighed in fustration. How she yearned to be like the normal kids, with loving parents and a safe environment to grow up in. "I- I can't, Alibe." She opened her mouth as if to say something else, yet words never came out. Deciding against continuing the conversation, Moira slowly turned on her heel and began to walk away, trying to hide the tears forming in her mismatched eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow, hopefully."_

_Alibe had tried to interject, but she blotted him out, part of the background noise. His pleas blended into the howling Irish wind._

_She had left the boy alone_.

_She had left the boy alone and speechless._

_\---_

_When Moira opened the door to her family's small home, she was greeted with the sight of empty beer bottles and smashed brown-stained glass on the floor. Just a regular day in the O'Deorain household. Moira sighed and stepped over the broken glass slowly, not wanting to get injured. She could hear faint talking, but could not make out what was being said._

_She approached the living room, where the voice's could be heard. She opened the door which creaked loudly, announcing her presence. The talking had stopped._

_Peering her head around the door, she saw her father- a tall, well-built man with fiery red hair and brown eyes. He stood tall over her mother, who was dangerously underweight and bruised, much like herself._

_Her father sighed and turned toward's his only child. "What do you want, Moira?"_

_"N-nothing, sir." She hated that nickname. It was degrading and made her feel powerless, although it often pleased her father. He was a sick, sick man._

_He slowly nodded his head, glancing toward the clock which hung on a bare and undecorated wall. "I see your late again, girlie."_

_"Sorry, it w-wont happen again." She could feel tears welling up in her eyes. Resist. Resist. Resist._

_"Oh?" Her father cocked his head towards her. He slowly walked closer too her, reaching out his hand to stroke her shoulder-length hair. "Are you scared of me, Moira?"_

_"N-no, sir." Lie. Lie. Resist. Don't cry. Damnú, she was shaking..._

_Moira hoped that he didn't notice her quaking shoulders. He observed his daughter like some sort of decoration, checking for any scratch or imperfection. His brows furrowed. "Have you been crying?"_

_"No s-"_

_"Liar!" He bellowed, raising his arm above his head, making Moira quiver and raise her arms over her face. Yet the blow never came. She didn't dare to look up at her father, in fear of what he may do. Only words came._

_"I did not raise a pussy!" He spat._

* * *

Moira glanced over to Angela, who was looking directly at her face, checking for any cracks in her stubborn personality. Soon enough, Moira's face contorted into a look of discomfort, before a single clear drop ran down from her blue eye.

"I am not well, Angie..."

The doctor reached over to pat Moira's back, but she quickly flinched away. " _Don't touch me!"_ the geneticist yelled, slapping her hand away. She scrambled up off her desk's chair, and Angela stood up aswell, alarmed at her co-workers action. Moira's mouth hung open as tears rolled down her face, her arm held up in front of her.

Angela put the puzzle pieces together, and she found out Moira was afraid of the demons of her past, about her family and why she was acting in such an odd way in the present. She was a social outcast. Forced into that role by how her family raised her, and subsequently how she lived her life today. No wonder she was so thin, she was probably be afraid of punishment if she gained a small amount of weight...

Moira was an enigma, which she let nobody solve. If only she let someone who cared about her into her life, maybe she could find her way out of the ditch her family dug.

If only...


	2. They say it Changes when the Sun goes down

Angela had exited Moira's office that evening with a new understanding of her coworker. She felt like she had to do something, like she was entitled to go back in time and make every bad thing in her life dissapear. To make her feel normal. Like she wasn't a social outcast, just a kid with hopes and dreams and friends to support her. Not an emotional husk who was abused by the people she was supposed to love.

 _However_ , one could argue that this is what made Moira exceptional when it came to science, in a way. Maybe, in order to be the best of the best, you need to make a couple of sacrifices. Maybe, you need to be so isolated that the only option is to make yourself stronger...

_Maybe Moira was autistic?_

_Ah, bullshit_. Angela had been working late, all this melarkey was getting to her head..

_She could do with a coffee._

_\---_

As soon as Angela had left, Moira collapsed onto her chair and started crying. Not just the quiet, restricted whimpering she did in secret, trying to hold her reputation of being calm and level-headed. This was head in hands bawling. One might walk down the hallway next to Moira's room and wonder if that was actually the morally grey geneticist, or if she was going mad. _Maybe she already is._

Moira never wanted to reveal her past. Never wanted to relive those memories. In fact, she wanted to bury them so far under her work that she would forget about her... unusual childhood.

_But alas, Angela- Fucking- Ziegler comes in and completely breaks her facade._

_..._

_She needs to calm down._

The doctor wiped the tears from her face with her left hand, opening her desks drawer with the other. She reached in to grab her old and beaten 1980's Sony Walkman, on which she had a couple of songs stored. Moira always admired retro gear, she appreciated the simplicity of it compared to the confusing modern world. Sighing, the Irishwoman placed white headphones over her ears, selected a track, and hit play. Soon, familiar lyrics began to play into her ears.

 ** _[So who's that girl there?](https://youtu.be/EqkBRVukQmE) _ **  
**_I wonder what went wrong,_**  
**_So that she had to roam the streets._**  
**_She don't do major credit cards,_**  
**_I doubt she does receipts,_**  
**_It's all not quite legitimate._**

* * *

**_And what a scummy man._**  
**_Just give him half a chance,_**  
**_I bet he'll rob you if he can._**  
**_Can see it in his eyes, yeah,_**  
**_That he's got a driving ban,_**  
**_Amongst some other offenc-_**

_The song had been interrupted by Moira hitting the pause button on her little Walkman and hiding it under her pillow. The familiar creaking of the stairs warned her of anyone approaching, and anyone who might want to take away the precious device._

_She heard feet on the landing, where her small bedroom was located. The wooden door connecting the two areas creaked as it opened, revealing spindly fingers connecting to a boney hand. Her mother. She stepped into the room and tip-toed over to where Moira sat on her single bed. The woman had an aura of uncertainty about her, checking behind her shoulder as she crept into the room and when she eventually took a seat next to Moira. She was scared of her husband, just like her daughter. They were both battered and bruised by him._

_Her mother would have been pretty without her unhealthy physique and scars- shining blue eyes, flowing brown hair, sharp features._

_Such a shame that she was married to a monster._

_The woman took ahold of Moira's right hand, clutching tightly, forcing a smile. "It's okay, dear. Sean is sleeping."_

_That bought a rare grin onto the young geneticists face. She loved moments like this, alone with her mother, when her father couldn't interrupt them. "Thanks, mom."_

_Moira reached under her pillow, feeling for the small device underneath. Her mother wouldn't mind- she didn't care what Moira did in her free time, unlike her father. He wanted her to be seen but not heard._

_Grabbing hold on the mp3 player and pulling it out from under the pillow, Moira hit the play button. A soft guitar riff echoed around the room, followed by Alex Turner's voice._

_Her mother wasn't particulary a fan of her daughters music taste, but she didn't mind it either. She had stated multiple times that if Moira was happy, so was she. The woman had to search for snippets of happiness in their sad, sad world._

_It was nights like these, both the females had decided, that gave them sanity. When music filled the room and they were allowed to love eachother. It made them feel normal, this tingling feeling inside their chests. They wish it could last forever._

_Forever, and ever, until the nasty man wakes up._

* * *

**They say it changes when the sun goes down,**  
**Over the river going out of town.**  
**And they say it changes when the sun goes down,  
Around here...**

She was spacing out again.

There were too many memories to think about when she played this song. Most of which were surprisingly happy, reminding her of nights where it was just her and her mother. When they sat on her little bed, in her little room, with a little device that gave them both so much happiness. _Good times._

It didn't seem like much, the Sony Walkman, someone had thrown it out onto the snow a couple of days after Christmas. That person had probably received a much more advanced peice of technology, yet to Moira it was the most high-tech thing she owned. It already had quite a large collection of songs on it, varying from heavy metal to rap and grime- the previous owner must have had quite a diverse taste in music.

Who would have thought, a little device from the 1980's would have such an effect on a girl born in the mid 2030's. Moira didn't consider herself cheap (especially with her rather high income from a job at Overwatch), yet the outdated, stolen device was a direct contradiction to that. She could always go out and buy something far more modern, yet the overwhelming feeling of nostalgia would never allow that. Plus, Moira had grown a rather close attachment to it...

 _Ah, bullshit._ _She could do with a coffee. Or whiskey. Or both._

With that, the geneticist turned off the Walkman, putting it back into her desks drawer. Moira began her stroll down to the mess hall, where she would meet Angela with a coffee of her own. They would apologise to each other for being too pushy, or too emotional, and then agree to never bring anything like that up again. All whilst Moira would be making an Irish coffee, although it had more alcahol content in it than coffee- an excuse to get _absolutely pissed_ during the early hours, she thought with a grin.

**Author's Note:**

> very sorry.  
> edit: please don't be afraid to leave a comment. i love hearing feedback and constructive criticism.


End file.
